


Death is Human

by Once a Bard (bossyluigi)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Blood and Gore, Drabble, I Tried, Mention of Death, One Shot, i'm not fluent but whatever, sometimes you just have to get your thoughts out on paper, we love dabbling in edgelord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28522647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossyluigi/pseuds/Once%20a%20Bard
Summary: A short edgy drabble about Trafalgar Law being Death Incarnate.----------------------------------It was better his final sips were enough of a pleasant experience to reassure him that there were still things left in this world to appreciate apart from the suffering of others at his hands.After all, there would be no Death without a life to indulge in every now and again.It’s only human.
Kudos: 7





	Death is Human

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! I'm currently jumping between the next chapter of Sandman and my work so that should hopefully be coming soon! I just had to get my thoughts about Law out of my system, which explains why this is so spontaneous and short.
> 
> I also have a Twitter specifically for stuff about writing, headcanons, fic-talk, and fic ideas! If you'd be interested in checking that and giving me a follow, I'm over at @onceabard! Hope to see you over there!

Death is human-- angry, resentful, nihilistic, _fallible_. 

Death is a condition with a creative cure.

Death is the lifeless eyes of a thousand men, women… children staring into the dark with outstretched arms. 

Death is the haunting reminder that “ _You really shouldn’t be here_ ” and “ _Their lives were in your hands-- and you let them go_ ”. 

It’s the cold gust of wind fighting to dust bruised cheeks and split lips, the haunting whistle of childish songs across the bottom of the ocean, and the subtle laughter in the dead of the night. 

It’s the grin stretched from ear to ear and the lithe fingers digging into clothed shoulders. 

It’s the repetitive slamming of knuckles into ribs as punishment for decisions made and yet to be made. 

It’s fresh blood dripping down exposed skin. 

It’s the mark of permanent ink embedded in flesh, meant to be read by whoever’s faced with fists brandished as weapons. 

It’s the title burned into every wanted poster bearing those familiar furrowed brows, dark circles, and that deep, penetrating stare. 

Every cry of pain, anger, and sorrow was laced in curses towards the man that Death had become, even if that man was the one in distress. 

He was the monster parents threatened their children with, a creature in the darkness, and the god of life and death. 

He was a fallen archangel with the weight of a thousand souls upon his shoulders, beautifully elegant in all things except his own head. 

Gore had marked where he tread in brilliant brush strokes at his feet, left for those who survived once he was gone. 

“I should be dead…” 

Each painted a picture in memory of those unforgivable sins. 

“I should have been taken out a long time ago…” 

He spoke over an empty glass of some unlabeled bottle of something strong, medicinal even. It was enough to balance the unsettlingly comforting atmosphere and company now holding him against his will. 

If they knew him as more than just a name, letting him go would immediately jump the list of important things to tend to. Associating with him was as good as placing a target directly over your heart, and they had done it without so much as a second thought. 

The Strawhats -- how _tedious_. 

He was Death incarnate, bathed in the lives he’d either taken or left for dead. He was the sole survivor of tragedy and left it in spades in his wake. How did they feel he was even remotely worthing honoring with forgiveness, or more likely their ignorance? 

Large bulbs of ice are doused in another coating of the unidentified liquid before meeting his lips. Its burn was welcomed with a tinge of discomfort. 

This wasn’t in his vision. While he had taken this life back for himself, each step towards the chaos he intended to wreak had been borrowed, and now, it belonged to a child. 

Fingers curl around the glass, testing its strength. 

All that’s left within him is confusion and anger that still had yet to subside. It was an ever flickering flame at his very core, only flaring to a roar when its overwhelming presence reared its ugly head once more. 

What was he doing? Drinking wouldn’t erase the circumstances he’d found himself in. This wasn’t a disease to cure or an ailment in need of remedying. This was the remaining destiny he had forgotten to take control of working against his desire for control. 

There was uncertainty in everything, unfortunately. 

After nursing the glass for a while longer, the remainder of its contents met his lips again, going down smoother than he had expected. 

It was better his final sips were enough of a pleasant experience to reassure him that there were still things left in this world to appreciate apart from the suffering of others at his hands. 

After all, there would be no Death without a life to indulge in every now and again. 

It’s only human.


End file.
